


There and Back Again

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Canon, Double Penetration, F/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: When this all had first begun among the three of them, Jon and Aegon touched each other only incidentally, but Rhaenys had wanted more from them, always more – she’d wanted the two of them to share her body the way they share her heart and soul – and it hadn’t been long at all before boundaries fell away in service of cooperation.
Relationships: Aegon VI Targaryen (Son of Elia)/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Jon Snow/Aegon VI Targaryen/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Jon Snow/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81
Collections: ASOIAFrarepairs Promptfills





	There and Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> For the asoiafrarepairs prompt: Prince Aemon (Jon) has returned from fostering at Winterfell and Prince Aegon has returned from fostering at Sunspear. Princess Rhaenys welcomes them home and they have sex.

She hadn’t known she would miss them so much. They’d always been as much pest as brother to her, Aegon forever underfoot with his desire to be included, Jon forever on her nerves with his irritating habits. Rhaenys had mostly preferred the company of her Dornish cousins. Together they’d turned up their pretty little noses at Jon and Aegon, teasing them, giggling behind coy hands at them, spending firelit confidences in one bedchamber or another complaining about them more out of kinship with each other than true annoyance with the boys. Because the boys were always there, it was easy to think she might prefer it if they weren’t.

But then they’d left, one right after the other, fostered out in far-flung places, and Rhaenys had realized just how much she relied on their presence.

To be sure, there had been letters, and visits, both of them home, her once to Winterfell and once to Sunspear. She hadn’t truly known how different they were until seeing each of them in a place completely opposite the other and appreciating how well each of them fit there, Jon so well-suited to the spare, almost austere ways of the North and Aegon blending seamlessly with her hot-blooding, laughing Dornish kin.

They bring those differences to her bed when they return, and she appreciates them even more then.

They’d never been expected to intermarry. True, one could hardly come to maturity as a Targaryen without a keen awareness of their history, but their father had bucked tradition quite heartily himself, taking not one but two brides from outside families, and whatever she, Jon and Aegon might have absorbed from their grandfather’s rantings, or their aunts’ and uncles’ elitism, or the obvious expectations of outsiders, Rhaenys had never felt any pressure to wed either brother, and for most of her life, the thought would have been rather foreign to her – not strange or repulsive, but the custom of some other place and time, a thing meant for others and not herself. But that was before they left, and she’d discovered what true longing meant. 

Aegon came to her bed first. His emotions had always run close to the surface, quick to fight, quicker to smile. He’d come back from Dorne quicker to love, as well. 

It had started as a fight, as play; she’d wrestled with him in his youth, delighting in holding him at bay while he struggled to attack, until he grew older and stronger and winning against her was not nearly so satisfying as besting other boys. The last time they’d wrestled, he’d been on the cusp of becoming, his small boy’s body growing leaner and rangier as it shot up in height. There was no mistaking that he was a man on his return, though he still had the rounded, flushed cheeks of boyhood and a sly, youthful grin. He’d caught her up as if to wrestle once more, threw her squealing upon her bed and pinned her with his greater weight and strength. How had the kiss happened? She can’t remember now, only that it felt as natural as breathing, that his big hands had covered her modest breasts completely and that his cock, hard under his breeches, felt blissfully good when it pressed against the juncture of her thighs. Something inside her knew that this was part of what she missed when he was gone, for all that he’d never touched her in such a way before.

With Jon, it had been a true fight between them, the two of them butting heads over something inconsequential enough that neither remembers it now. No one could ever aggravate her the way he did, so stubborn and set in his own ways. Rhaenys always swore he’d say the sky was purple with green stripes just for the sake of disagreeing with her, and once she gave in and agreed, he’d quizzically say the sky was blue as if she was crazy to think otherwise. She hadn’t meant to kiss him, but somehow it was the only thing she _could_ do with everything so different yet still somehow the same, the only true way to channel all that roiled inside her. They’d kissed before – Targaryens don’t stint on showings of affection, after all – but not like that, never anything like that, and whatever space she had left within her after Aegon was filled then forevermore with Jon.

She’d been inseparable from them then. Rhaenys’s cousins had pouted over her lack of attention. They’d tried to go back to their old ways of giggling complaints and feigned annoyance, but Rhaenys had no taste for such things. All she had taste for was her brothers, Jon and Aegon, first separately – clandestine fumblings, earthy whispers, sly hands under tabletops and under clothes, fingers and lips and tongues tucked in secret places – and then together, all three of them falling without question or pause into the inevitable.

Aegon swore he was as maidenly as she on the night she gave her maidenhead to them, first to Jon and then Aegon in succession, older brother and younger, leader and follower. In terms of the act itself, she thought it possible that Aegon maintained a level of purity, but surely not in the acts surrounding it. No boy who kissed and touched and tasted her as he did was innocent to the ways of love. Still, she loved him for the pretense.

Jon didn’t bother with any such pretense, and Rhaenys loved him for the lack of it.

“Aemon,” she says to him now. She hears his sound of annoyance before he raises his head enough for her to see his scowl. No one calls him by his given name, not even their father who chose it. Lyanna may not have gotten her Northern way in the naming of him, but she’d gotten it in the _calling_ of him. That’s precisely why Rhaenys likes to use it, when the mood takes her.

Aegon chuckles at her back and she feels the vibration of it from nape to knees where he’s pressed against her. His cock is soft now, but she has no doubt that will shortly change. Lips brushing the shell of her ear become the blunt, serrated bite of his teeth, and she gasps, her body responding immediately, though they’d fucked her into insensate bliss not long ago. 

“Come now, Aemon,” he chastises, “You mustn’t ignore our sweet sister.” Jon growls at that, rolling to his elbow and planting his other hand on Aegon’s face over her shoulder to push him away. 

“ _You_ are not allowed to call me that. Only…” another shove, and then his hand curls around the back of her neck and pulls her face to his, his tongue traces the seam of her lips and pushes inside to drink of her mouth, though she’s the one who ends up feeling drunk.

He smiles at her, feral and soft all at once, that dearest, most irksome, most beloved face. “Only Rhaenys.”

She feels Aegon gathering himself to fight behind her and forestalls it by twisting her head and seeking his mouth in a kiss, Jon’s hand still at her nape between them, his fingers tightening as if it gives him pleasure simply to watch. Something for Rhaenys to remember for another time, perhaps.

“No fighting,” she says. Aegon shudders at the nip of her teeth at his lower lip and sure enough, his cock flexes against her as the tension in his body melts into anticipation. Jon is already hard in her hand, as she knew he would be when she reached for him. “I want you both. Now.” Aegon laughs again.

“Greedy thing,” he scolds playfully, even as he catches her knee in the crook of his elbow to accommodate the both of them. Without any words needed, Jon takes hold of Aegon’s cock and guides it home, though it slides inside her too briefly for true satisfaction, as he merely wets himself to ease passage elsewhere. When this all had first begun among the three of them, Jon and Aegon touched each other only incidentally, but Rhaenys had wanted more from them, always more – she’d wanted the two of them to share her body the way they share her heart and soul – and it hadn’t been long at all before boundaries fell away in service of cooperation.

During the slow process of Aegon seating himself in her arse, Jon kisses her, pets her body like a beloved animal, stroking and gentling her, delighting in the feel of her as much as she delights in his touch. Where Aegon’s words are bright, laughing, vulgar, Jon’s are strained and primal, sun and sea against wolf and wind. When Jon can finally push his cock inside her, she can’t help but scream with the pleasure of it, just skirting the edge of discomfort in a way that only makes the bliss feel keener. She peaks just like that, the two of them nearly motionless, only filling her, and they both groan with the effort of staying still as she comes and throbs around each of them. Another day, it would have taken longer, but today they have her body thrumming on the edge like a plucked harp string. They should find excuses to spend the entire day in her bed together more often.

When they both begin to move, working together to find a rhythm, Rhaenys relaxes between them, allowing herself to submit completely and fully to these men she treasures so. These boys. Her brothers.

“Welcome home,” she sighs, her smile and her heart content.


End file.
